


Lit-erate!

by idiosyncratic_af



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Blush - Freeform, Clay - Freeform, College, Copying, Cute, DNF, DSMP, Denial, English, Fluff, Friendship, Funny, George - Freeform, Group, Homework, M/M, Pining, Project, School, Soulmates, Teasing, Winter, assignment, class, course, dream - Freeform, dreamnotfound, flirt, georgenotfound - Freeform, my first dsmp fanfic lol, sapnap - Freeform, study, wingman, wingman sapnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiosyncratic_af/pseuds/idiosyncratic_af
Summary: Clay jokes that George is his soulmate after they have the exact same answers for an assignment.  George doesn't deny anything– George also copied all of Clay's answers without the latter noticing.  Soulmates.  Clay falls hard.  Nick's face is permanently planted into his palm now.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! first dsmp fanfic :) I'm working on another right now that's not dnf (it is, but just a friendship fic), but it's been a while since I've written a fanfic– or just story in general– so I wanted to get back into the swing of things with this short fic. I don't ship dnf and reluctantly wrote this, but I think it's cute..? Though I don't ship, I do still enjoy dnf content...
> 
> *also I always double space after periods (a habit that I haven't been able to knock out of the way and never really found a need to), but it looks pretty weird on ao3 so I'll def be going back and fixing it when it's not midnight on a school night where I don't even have any homework (but am still up, writing an AN for a dnf fanfic while watching karl's jackbox stream I missed).
> 
> I hope you enjoy and also aren't up at an insane hour scouring ao3 for dnf content!
> 
> so many messages... last thing: might change the title because I didn't put any effort into this one, just wanted to post as soon as I could!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! first dsmp fanfic :) I'm working on another right now that's not dnf (it is, but just a friendship fic), but it's been a while since I've written a fanfic– or just story in general– so I wanted to get back into the swing of things with this short fic. I don't ship dnf and reluctantly wrote this, but I think it's cute..? Though I don't ship, I do still enjoy dnf content...
> 
> *also I always double space after periods (a habit that I haven't been able to knock out of the way and never really found a need to), but it looks pretty weird on ao3 so I'll def be going back and fixing it when it's not midnight on a school night where I don't even have any homework (but am still up, writing an AN for a dnf fanfic while watching karl's jackbox stream I missed).
> 
> I hope you enjoy and also aren't up at an insane hour scouring ao3 for dnf content!
> 
> so many messages... last thing: might change the title because I didn't put any effort into this one, just wanted to post as soon as I could!

George really hated this class. It had no redeeming qualities. English was a boring subject. Everyone spoke it and no one needed to know what anaphora was. Pointless. His professor was unsavory, looking girls up and down and settling his eyes where they really shouldn’t have been. There were some sly strokes of hands on his hairy arms from the freshman girls willing to do anything to get a good grade and thus more time to do drugs or lose their virginities to guys who’d forget their names not two minutes later. His classmates were bland. They didn’t raise their hands (the professor didn’t care much), they milled about directionless when given short stretching breaks. Some seemed to actually care about the course– in the beginning, at least. The stuffy room and stale air had the unsurprising effect of bringing everyone’s mood down and shoving only one thought in their mind: _ugh_.

Today, they were being put in groups. “Oh, joy,” he muttered under his breath. A few around him snickered, but most were just rubbing their tired eyes, checking the time on their phones. The professor projected a document on his computer. It seemed like he was trying more– he’d recently been reported for misconduct.

The groups were dubbed ‘teams’ and each team had a name and was assigned a room. He was in the ‘Dream Team’. He scoffed, quickly glancing at the other names. ‘Muffin’. ‘Craft’. ‘Trident’. And then ‘Henry’, consisting of three boys all named Henry.

“All right,” the professor clapped. “Uh, go on. Into your groups.” The poor man was sweating. If George hadn’t heard about the time he took three girls on his desk in this exact room, he might’ve felt bad. But he had heard, so he didn’t. He also heard that one of the girls had gotten pregnant, but at this point, he couldn’t care less.

The school was great– it was amazing– but they’d needed an extra class or something (George didn’t know the details), so they threw in ‘Become _Lit_ -erate!’ and let the students deal with the consequences. _You just need an easy A and one more English credit. It’ll be over before you know it. It’s only a semester._ He trudged to Study Room 202C, plopped down into a chair, and made a noise of frustration.

“Why are you moaning?” His head snapped up. Staring back at him was a guy with messed hair and–

“Your bandana’s stupid.” The guy laughed, unimpressed.

“Nobody asked you.”

“Nobody asked anythin’.”

“Yeah, somebody did. I asked why you were groaning.”

“Yes. _Groaning_ , not _moaning_.”

“S’basically the same thing,” a new voice piped.

“No one asked you.” George huffed. This class would be the death of him.

“Okay, well I’m Clay.” He stuck his hand out.

“I hate your sweatshirt. It hurts my eyes.” Clay chuckled. The guy in the bandana rolled his eyes and redirected his attention to George.

“Well, the glasses on your shirt are stupid.”

“Your bandana’s still stupid.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language.” Three heads turned to him. George, with his stupid clout goggles tucked in his shirt collar; the guy with the bandana, staring stupidly forward; and Clay, arms crossed over his brightly-colored hoodie-clad chest. Their stares burned into the newcomer’s eyes.

“Um, hi. I’m Darryl. And I, uh, don’t like cursing that much.” He licked his lips. His gaze flitted between them. His voice cracked as he made an attempt to speak. He tried again. “Should we get started on the assignment?” George blinked. Once. Twice. And then he made eye contact with the guy wearing a bandana. They both nodded.

George’s “no” hit the air right as Bandana’s “fuck no” did. They shared twin smirks at Darryl’s gasping.

Bandana turned to George. He kicked his foot against the ground and propelled his rolling chair forward. “I’m Nick, by the way.”

“George.” He cast Nick an appreciative glance. “I’m assuming you don’t know what the assignment is either?”

“Nope.”

“I think we’re going to get along great.”

“Me too.” A toothy grin, cheeky and wide.

They turned back to the table. More people had made their way over. Most were already attempting to catch up on sleep. Some had their heads tilted back, others simply held head in arms on desk; one had the audacity to push two chairs together to create a makeshift lounge. Darryl was unwrapping a muffin, grumbling about how he wanted to be on a different team. Something about a ‘Zak’. Only Clay was really working.

George and Nick let him be.

* * *

“So why are you taking the course anyway? It’s boring as fuck.”

“I need another English credit. Heard this was easy, but not that it’d be so _boring_.”

“I know right? It’s like Johnson has no will to live– until he sees Anna, of course.”

“Who and… who?”

“Johnson’s the prof? And Anna’s the, uh.” Nick cleared his throat. “She’s got the best grades in the class.”

“Ah.”

“Aside from Clay, of course.”

George hummed. “Is that why you took the class? Clay?” Nicked huffed out an easy laugh, nodding. “What is he? Your _boyfriend?_ ” George dragged out the word, feeling like a giddy elementary schooler.

“God, what are you? In first grade?” Nick shoved his shoulder, laughing and shaking his head. He laughed a lot, which was nice. “Nah, he’s been my best friend since before my balls dropped. And I’m straight.” He paused. “You?” A sheepish grin replaced his normally confident smirk and George laughed at his expense; his cheeks still bloomed red.

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve actually never really thought about it. Straight. I guess? I dunno.” Nick nodded.

“That’s cool, to not think too much about, like, labels and stuff. Not to pry, but just… on the topic.”

“Yeah, I was about to ask if you were hitting on me.”

“Oh, in your dreams.”

“I can’t wait until I fall asleep tonight.”

“Sorry you can only feel my love when you’re sleeping. My tender embrace.” Nick made out with the air, making disturbing noises that left George in hysterics.

“Oh shut up.” His friend cackled.

“I thought we had a thing going.”

“We did. Until you ruined it.”

The boys looked at each other then chuckled. Class had ended a few minutes prior, and Nick walked with George out the door. It was immediately apparent that Nick and Clay were friends– now confirmed friends for a long time– so George was a little shocked when Nick didn’t bother waiting for Clay. “He can’t even hear me. Loves creative writing. Just leave him be, he’ll catch up.” George’s mouth had dropped out slightly. “Don’t worry, he’ll know where to find us.” It had fallen into a small smile.

It was nice walking with Nick. He wondered about how he’d never noticed him in the class before.

“Probably because you’re always so wrapped up in being upset. You’re like, permanently scowling.”

“Well that’s ‘cause the class is _awful_.” Nick laughed again, loud and clear.

“Yeah, yeah… you’re right. God, I wonder why Clay loves it so much.” His expression turned softer, and his eyes shone with an almost prideful gleam. “You know, he’s actually writing a novel.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Won’t let anyone read it, ‘course that never stopped me. I liked it. Part of the reason I let him stay in class– I wanna know what happens next.” George’s chest felt light. He felt free. He was typically dead on his feet for hours after his most dreaded class, but today he felt incredible.

“That’s really cool.” And then they reached the exit doors and stepped outside. “Hey, uh, did we have homework?”

“Oh.” Nick bounced on his heels. “Yeah, probably.” And then he was turning away, yelling a loud “Bye Georgie!”

* * *

_Just copy off clay it’s what I always do_

_1:02 am_

* * *

“Nick, why were you up at one a.m.?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Why weren’t you up at one a.m.?

“Because I value my sleep.”

“Aw, little baby Georgie needs his beauty sleep. Well, good news is, I ended up completing the homework.”

A resounding _smack_ echoed through the room. Nick only raised an eyebrow.

“I forgot to do it.” Nick only laughed. “Fuck off.” The man sat across only laughed harder, feigning wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” He glanced up at the clock and George followed his gaze. “Clay should be here any minute now. Here, lemme uh–” He got up, switched chairs, and then drummed his fingers on his thighs.

“What– what did that do?” There was an awkward space between him and Nick now.

“You’re welcome. Hey! Clay! Over here! Sit next to my boy Georgie!” A not so subtle wink and thumbs up. A very audible groan. A confused glance and reluctant sitting.

“Hi again, _Georgie_.” A soft, teasing smile. “Clay, but you already knew that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure why I made dream's last line so... ominous? but it felt dramatic enough that I was happy with it being the end of the chapter :) speaking of chapters, I've already started on the second! There's probably only going to be two or three... probably only two? ummm yup! can't tell you when the next chapter might come out, not even a ballpark estimate, but it should... happen... sometime..? it was an easy weekend so I had lots of time to write, but school is already kicking my butt again and time to write is few and far between. hope you enjoyed :) please let me know if you do! it really helps... my self esteem!
> 
> also! I didn't really proofread but I'm posting anyway because I just want to get back into the writing scene. I love writing, but we can all agree that there's just a more productive feel to it when you post it online. might come back and make minor edits, but none too big that if you don't read edits you'll be confused.
> 
> okay! just had to get that disclaimer out there to protect my ego in case I find nasty typos or inconsistencies later! enjoy reading dnf and simping over minecraft men <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george thinks clays cute.
> 
> that's it. that's the summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh okay so like two weeks later but um. here :) longer than last chapter, so that's pretty cool! just been stressed out and bad with time management. but I reread what I'd written over the past two weeks and actually thought it wasn't that bad! so I decided I'd post chapter two today! rereading a while late is always nice because it gives distance. I felt like a reader rather than the writer, so I could actually enjoy my work and think "huh. not bad." always helpful in writing more!
> 
> hope you enjoy :) and I'm not sure about my commitment to a longer story but obviously, like... if I extend it could just be the developing of their relationship and... yeah. but who knows? not me!
> 
> *not fully edited. the beginning was reread several times, the latter part was s p e e d r a n. will likely edit in the future, as I like to revisit works, but nothing too major, just grammar maybe*

George liked computers. They made sense. There was a language, you spoke, things happened. Easy.

Social situations like this one? Not so much. He was buffering in real life.

“Uhhhhhhhhh–”

“I thought about changing out of my usual sweater, but I uh… I like it. Sorry if it hurts your eyes.” He chuckled. It was a strange sound. It came from deep within his chest, but was breathy, like a passing summer breeze.

“No, that’s um. That’s okay.” He hoped his quizzical expression and death glare was enough to let Nick know that he was _very_ confused and _very_ uncomfortable. “You uh. I was going to apologize to you yesterday. Nick said you find us.”

“The cafe down the corner right?” George nodded in confirmation. “Yeah,” Clay’s expression turned sheepish. He reached to rub the back of his neck, “I decided to go to the library instead. I did– I did pause to look in the window– of the cafe. But I uh… just thought I’d–” There was something heartwarming about the way Clay stumbled over his words, refusing to share the existence of his work in progress. George’s jaw tensed and his toes curled under the desk.

“You’re good. I just, yeah. Your hoodie’s fine. I guess.” The lump in his throat was annoying. The way Clay tilted his head just slightly to the side was even more annoying. His hair flopped over and his smile drew itself lopsided. George’s heart stuttered.

“Well thank you. I’m glad I have your approval.” It was a short conversation that left George feeling satisfied. Nick was already plugged into his computer, headphones on, hood up, shoulders hunched. George opened his own laptop, watching as Clay reached into his bag and pulled out his as well. Its screen opened immediately to a document, filled with words. (A passive _nice font_ flitted through George’s mind, the words rolling on the tip of his tongue.) The tab was switched immediately and– George let a small victorious smile slip onto his lips. Nick caught his eye and gave a nod.

“Hey, Clay. Wanna buy me some breakfast?”

“You literally just had–”

“I’m _hungry_. Clay, _please. Please_.” Nick shot George a wink, who, in turn, grimaced.

“God you’re annoying–” that produced a whine from Nick and eye rolls from the other two– “but _fine._ You’re fuckin’lucky I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too, you hunky dreamboat.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up.” His laugh was nice, a deep chuckle that shook his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

“Okay! Be back soon Georgie!” A sympathetic head nod from George to Clay, a returned affectionate shake of a head. And then they were gone– not just like that, though. Their exit involved a lot of reaching for hands, pulling aways, accidental gropings, groans of disapproval, and lots and lots of ‘ _pwease'_ s and ‘fuck you’s.

And _then_ it was just George and the computer. His chair flew back, his elbow banged against the crappy wooden table, his fingers grasped for his saving grace, glowing dimly in the 7:00 a.m. light. George didn’t even know what the assignment was, but it didn’t really matter. It was part of a research project that would make up 35% of their grade. Nothing really mattered besides scraping by, getting through the class with at least a B.

* * *

Darryl was practically drooling as Nick scarfed down another muffin. The former whined pathetically. The latter moaned exaggeratedly, praising the muffin, profusely thanking the heavens for such a _delicious_ treat. Darryl stomped his foot on the ground while Nick sucked on his fingers, a disgusting _pop_ filling the room when he pulled his thumb out of his mouth. Clay had his headphones on, nodding his head and tapping his foot to the beat of an unheard song. Trapped in his own little world.

“Can I–”

“No!” Nick’s cackling was muffled by the bread in his mouth. Small chunks flew out as he coughed and George’s nose crinkled in disgust.

“You absolute _pig_.” George laughed out as Darryl screeched: “You’re wasting the muffin!”

Maybe Clay wasn’t trapped. He was escaping from this disastrous hellhole. As if he could hear George’s inner dialogue, the smiling fool lifted his head and caught George’s eye. His cheeks warmed and he prayed that in the faint morning light, no one could see. Clay’s head ducked down again, and George was left staring at the obnoxious yellow of his hood. He turned away, already feeling a throbbing in his temples brought on by bright colors, incessant arguing, and a racing heart.

* * *

“I picked Frankenstein as my sci-fi novel to investigate.”

“Of course you did. Clay, you literally have such a god-complex and you know it.”

“I never denied that.”

“‘ _I never denied that_.’”

“Shut up man. Okay, what’d you choose?”

“Were we supposed to pick a whole book?”

“As opposed to..?”

“Not a whole book?”

“Yes, idiot. But you could’ve chosen a specific chapter or even just passage to analyze. And then tie it back to a poem. Any poem.”

“Stop mansplaining it to me.” Clay spluttered and Nick chose to ignore him. “I did the homework, I know what’s up. So I didn’t choose a sci-fi book, but I did choose a–”

“Stop.” Nick groaned and sank into his chair.

“What now, Clay?”

“It’s going to be like Goosebumps, or Captain Underpants or something. Just copy off mine.”

“Sick, thanks babe.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

A stream of air escaped George’s nostrils as he watched in amusement. The group, aside from the bickering pair in front, was boring again. Darryl had his phone out under the desk, being the opposite of subtle. Anytime someone so much as swept their gaze over him, he’d throw his phone down to the sticky carpet and flush a bright red. No one cared that he wasn’t paying attention because they weren’t either. Clay and Nick were actually the only ones participating in the discussion they were supposed to be having. The fluorescent lights above flickered. George studied a water stain on the ceiling. He counted the dark specks in the spotted ceiling. _One, two, three, four_ … poor substitutes for the stars that were probably still hanging in the early morning sky. _Five, six, seven, eight..._

He let out an audible groan. The class seemed to drag on and “All I have for entertainment are two idiots arguing over worms and slugs.”

A burst of laughter interrupted his thoughts. Nick looked close to tears, hunched over, arms wrapped around his stomach as his face turned a light pink, his bandana dancing as he shook. “Do you have something to say, George?” Clay’s voice was smoother than George’s would’ve been had he been in Clay’s position. Arms crossed across his chest, George couldn’t help but investigate the many wrinkles in his ugly sweatshirt, its small folds and rolling landscape.

“Um. No.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have anything to add?”

“No, actually. No. The um– well, discussion wise–” _why_ – “what I’d say would be exactly like what you did.” _Fuck–_ “I chose the same sources as you–” _me in the ass._

“Like, book?”

“Like, book, poems, authors. Yeah, just like–” God, George was going to start blurting out nonsense and he wouldn’t be able to stop. “Coincidence, I know. But I read Frankenstein when I was little,” _lie_ ; George read two pages, gave up, and then skimmed an online summary years later to try and impress a girl (it didn’t work), “and, I dunno. The idea of bringing something back to life is pretty cool. And then like, unintended consequences, and you know like, when the monster starts chasing Victor,” what the _fuck_ was he talking about? “Like, Victor was just a stubborn–”

“Asshole, yeah. Fuckin’ pussy too, when he–”

“Would break down in those stupid nervous sweats and lay in bed for days.” Clay blinked. _Shit, was that not a thing? I thought I read it in his document_. “Or, something. I didn’t reread the book for the assignment and it’s been a while–”

“Dude, that’s like–” Clay shook his head, his mop of dirty blonde hair flopping over his forehead, eyes wide. “Insane. Exactly what I thought. Um, sorry, Darryl, you look like you want to say something–” he most certainly did not look it. He was in the process of removing himself from his chair, arms tensed and eyebrows drawn together. “– but George, I just… what’d you think about Aeschylus?” _Fuuuuuuuck_. “Assuming you have nothing new to add because we have all the same sources–”

“Pretty cool. The strong emphasis he placed on morals and stuff. Of the seventy or so tragedies he wrote that are still, um, around, like. Pretty dope. Prometheus. Fire. Pretty cool.”

Nick noticeably perked up at the mention of fire, which normally would be concerning, but George was currently preoccupied with Clay’s dropped jaw. His soft lips formed a light ‘O’ shape before he licked and pressed them together.

“Yeah. I agree. Pretty dope.” He chuckled and his head fell back. He mouthed ‘dope’ and George watched in wonder at the way his muscles contracted and how his face moved to form the expressions he did. _That smile_. Clay looked the type to be tan during the summer and deathly pale in the winter. His skin seemed to be turning more fair by the minute, the rising sun straining its light through the window, casting a light glow around his exposed forearms. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. George studied the motion; the way it sank down and rose again, the way his light skin stretched. The curve of his jaw, the upturn of his nose. The light smattering of freckles across his cheeks was George’s undoing.

“It’s not that funny.” George tried for an irritated huff, but it came out more as a bothered sigh. “Clay, are you done?”

This only made Clay laugh harder, and at– George somehow lost track of the hours– this time of day, it was a welcome song. It tickled the base of George’s neck like the fluttering of wings. His wheeze chilled George like a fine spring mist. His voice– “George,” his neck rolled as his head lolled forward. George’s stomach lurched in time. Clay’s easy movements made the fire in the pit of George’s stomach burn brighter. “George. We’re soulmates.”

What was going through George’s head? Several strings of curse words, overlapping one another. Even more curse words. Swirling confusion. What came out of George’s mouth?

“Um, I guess so.”

Clay blinked. Once. Twice. And then he leaned back. A quiet grin flitted across his face, and then it was gone, replaced by a lazy smirk.

“Soul… yeah.”

George got more than he bargained for. He simply wanted a prepared notes document and a good grade for the discussion, not a raging storm within him and a conversational man wrapped in a charming package topped with a yellow sweater. Not a cuter-than-he-should-be guy staring right into George’s soul.

“What do you think, Georgie?” _Fuck._ “Do you agree with my analysis?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Okay, _George_.” Clay placed a certain emphasis on his name that made George’s heart leap into his throat.

“Yeah– yeah, I agree. Soulmates kind of thing, you know? Same wavelength and shit.”

“Language!” George hadn’t even realized how he… hadn’t realized people were still in the room. Nick’s snoring had turned into a familiar white noise that blended into George and Clay’s flowing conversation.

“Darryl.” Clay blinked, sheepish. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out his cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were still here.” He winced. “Sorry, that came out… rude, I just, I mean…” That easy smirk made its way to his face again, and he was back. “You were just sitting on your phone texting Zak. Not hard to forget about your presence.”

It warmed George’s heart– the idea that maybe Clay was just as lost in George as he was with Clay.

“I was _not_ –” Darryl hummed. “Nevermind, carry on.”

“Hang on.” Darryl looked back up, but George waved him away with a hand. Darryl gladly took the opportunity to turn back to the small screen in his lap. “This is graded right? So, how’s the prof going to… like, I thought he’d come in and check on us… or something.”

“George. There’s like, three hundred kids in this class. He can’t–”

“Well, yeah, I know that. Just like. Not even pop in to visit individual groups?”

“Nope.”

“Then how..?”

“Peer grading. I’ve been giving Nick A’s all semester.”

“What the–” fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, _what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck_ –

“Why?” A curious tilt to his head.

“You’re telling me– I’ve been– all semester? I’ve just been, like, recording discussions and putting them in shared folders. I’ve been fucking– fuck, man.”

“I mean, yeah. Not everything is peer grading, but like, process work and stuff. So things like this are pretty chill even though they weigh a lot. Obviously, the final paper and presentation stuff will be graded by him…” George tuned him out. Yeah, he’d been doing peer reflections, but he didn’t know they literally _were their grades_. He wouldn’t have stayed up so many nights, wouldn’t have actually tried to get his groupmates to talk, would’ve instead just struck up a deal to give each other A’s, he wouldn’t have…

_'George. We’re soulmates.'_

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“You been doing a lot of work for this class?” George, from where he was now bent over the table, head in arms, just groaned. Clay nodded sympathetically, and then said, “Poor baby.”

If only George’s heart wasn’t so weak. If only it didn’t stop for a few terrifying seconds and then rush him back to life. If only his cheeks weren’t so read, his stomach weren’t so upset, if only he weren’t so inexplicably angry.

Why was he angry? The better question would be why was Clay so cute? Why was his laugh so addictive? Why was he so good at English, why was he such a good friend, why was he so obsessed– Why was he so obsessed with the idea of him and George being soulmates?

 _Because he likes you_. That’s what George was telling himself. And it made him angry. Because Clay had already called Darryl his princess today, had already leaned in to kiss Nick’s cheek before he was pushed away. Because he was just like this.

He shook it off and then physically shook himself. He sat up and then back, throwing his head so far and so fast he nearly fell onto the floor. He groaned loudly. “I hate this class. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.” When he opened an eye and looked to his side, he saw a Clay prettier than any other he’d seen before. To be fair, each time he looked at Clay, the boy only seemed to grow more and more beautiful.

“Well,” his voice was soft, but held a certain depth; a babbling brook, “it can’t be all that bad. I mean, you met me.” Brown eyes on yellow ones. Hesitant grimace on soft smile. Clay chuckled. George smiled. Clay laughed harder. George snickered. Clay was wheezing, banging his fist on the table, startling Nick who jumped up, frantically scanned the room, and then fell back into his seat. George’s face hurt from the grin spread across his face. When was the last time he’d smiled this much? Especially in such a dim environment and so early in the day? But the better question was when had he last been with someone as infectious as Clay? In all the best ways. His energy, his laugh, dryness, excitement, exasperation, passion. His _laugh_.

“You sound like a tea kettle.” Clay wheezed harder at the offhand comment.

“Well, you’re British, so you like that right?”

“What a stupid fuckin’ question.” A pause. “Of course I do. You’re my soulmate.”

Brown on yellow. Wide grin on even wider grin. Just the two of them in the room. Except not really. But it felt like it. And that was nice, George thought. He liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 am on a Monday! could be starting off the week right, but... nahhhh
> 
> comments are always appreciated by every author, but you don't have to! it's... free. tho. idk if you can uncomment. uh. any primers?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don’t care about the way–” the way his morning eyes made George feel, when half-lidded, his head rose slowly peer at whoever just slid open the noisy glass doors, when those previously tired eyes brightened because they saw George. The way his stifled laughs repeatedly punched him in the gut. The way each of his smiles affected George a different way: the shy one that made George’s lips twitch up at the corners, the lazy one that made him swallow a little tighter, the bright one that made breathing just slightly harder…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay– it's Monday but I have a four day weekend. At this rate, I've been updating every two weeks... there's only been two chapters lol, and there are no promises for a consistent uploading schedule but uh... decided I'd post this because it's been two weeks since the last chapter.
> 
> I'll proofread this later so minor changes might be made, but I wanted to just get it out there in case I forget later!

Class was slightly more bearable now, George would concede. He’d fallen into an easy rhythm: wake up feeling dead; perk up slightly at the thought of his once dreaded ‘Become  _ Lit _ -erate!’ class; march out of his dorm and down the hall, into the cold, and then the dark building at the end of the pathway; hear Nick before he saw him, picture Clay before he heard him; enter Conference Room 202C, throw down his bag, and fall into a comfortable silence or join the discussion. This morning, Nick and Clay were in a heated debate over whether or not water was wet.

“It is, idiot. If you hold ice in your hand, you feel it melting. You say ‘it is wet’, because–”

“I never said it  _ wasn’t _ , okay? Just, like–”

“ _ You literally just did! _ Nick, you’re an idiot.”

“Just playing devil’s advocate!”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Well, you see, so–”

“I’m waiting–”

“Let me  _ god damn finish! _ Water… is not. Wet. Because– okay, here’s the thing–”

“Jesus– George!” Two relieved faces snapped up to see him standing in the doorway, sliding the glass open, then shut. Nick’s expression was a clear show of relief; he was practically sweating from how nervous he was to have chosen the losing side in an argument against his best friend. Clay’s was a bit harder for George to read. The creases in his forehead melted away and his balled up fists, pressed heavy against the desk, softened then fell into his lap. His smile was as easy as ever, one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other, showing more teeth. His eyes were bright, but he still wasn’t opening or closing his eyes fully. It  _ was _ 7:00 a.m. His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times– and there he went again, combing his fingers through his dark gold tresses. “George.” Surprised. Glad, maybe. “You’re here.” Clay turned a little to face George more head on, leaning back into his chair and feigning a sigh of exasperation. “Finally. Someone to save me from Nick’s idiocy–”

“ _ Clay! _ My feelings…”

“Fuck your feelings.”

“Fuck your mom.”

“I already did–” Clay flushed as Nick slammed his fist against the table, screeching like a caged zoo animal. “I mean, I fucked  _ your _ mom. Already.” Clay looked at George, who’d been watching this exchange silently.

“That’s… messed up, Clay.”

Nick’s shouting filled the room (“Oh my  _ god _ . Get his ass Georgie!”); his eyes were barely open, cheeks pushing them shut and squeezing the tears forming out.

“ _ Clay _ .” Said man looked betrayed, gaping at George. “That’s so messed up.”

“ _ I didn’t mean _ –” but he couldn’t even finish his sentence. George interrupted him with loud chuckles that left Clay quiet, staring with wide eyes and red cheeks. And then, he too was breaking down, laughing almost loud enough to rival Nick’s volume. And then it was a bit quieter; Clay grew silent. His shoulders were still shaking and then suddenly–

“That tea kettle wheeze!” The table shook and Clay’s water bottle rattled dangerously. “Nick!” He was on the floor, rolling in the greasy carpet and pointing his finger at his flustered best friend.

“He’s making fun of your laugh!”

“No! I’m not– I’m not! Nick, that’s not funny. It’s a nice laugh. I like tea.” There was a “ _ gay!” _ broken up with laughter from Nick, clutching his stomach and choking excessively.

Clay, his eyes still struggling to stay open, shoulders still shaking, faced George. If possible, his lips drew further up. An unspoken conversation. George liked that he could sense Clay’s appreciation. He liked Clay. And Nick, of course, but that buffoon was  _ slightly _ harder to deal with and brought out the worst in George. Clay was easy. Comfortable. Nice.

‘Soulmates,’ Clay mouthed.

‘Sure. I guess.’ The response made the blonde smile. Nick’s laughter– still loud and his breathing concerningly labored– faded into the background as George took time again to study Clay. He’d been doing that a lot. He’d already picked out a favorite smattering of freckles (just by Clay’s nose, stretched under his eye and falling lighter on his cheeks). He knew the contours of his favorite smile (when Clay called Nick an idiot but then laughed and loved with mirth in his eyes and warmth in his voice). He had a favorite laugh (the one that started with deep chuckles that shook his shoulders, made his hair flop, that ended with a sharp but shaky intake of breath that signified the shift into his tea-kettle wheeze). George memorized the intonations of Clay’s voice when he said “George” in just the way that made his stomach turn, his eyebrows knit together, mouth drop open slightly.

He smiled back at Clay.

* * *

“Leaving Clay behind again,” George’s eyes flitted back into the conference room, empty except for the blonde lounging in a crooked rolling chair, waving them away.

“Eh, he likes it. See? He’s shoo-ing us away!” Nick stuck his tongue out at Clay who rolled his eyes easily. “Anyway, he’s definitely working still on his story, so I’d just leave him be.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot he’s been working on one.” George risked another glance back. Clay was smiling at him. He threw his hand up in a small wave and then turned to his computer, rolling his shoulders, flexing his arms. His face scrunched slightly and his lips parted as tension noticeably melted away. Clay opened one eye and George immediately turned away. “You still secretly reading the chapters– ow!”

“Say it any louder, will you?”

“Hit me any harder will you?” Nick raised his arm and George yelped. “Not  _ actually _ .” George straightened his hoodie, yanking it down and pouting at Nick. “I’m assuming you have been. Any good?”

“Fuckin’ sucks–”

“What? But you–”

“No, it’s good. But there’s  _ clearly _ a character based off me who’s… he’s actually really cool, but in the most recent chapter he  _ royally _ screwed up.”

“Oh.”

“But other than that, the concepts dope and the writings really good. But it’s Clay, like, you can’t expect anything less than amazing, so I’m not surprised.” George hummed, stuffing his hands in his pocket, swaying on his feet, turning his shoulders. “What’s wrong with you? Got like, a boner you’re tryna hide?”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” George spluttered, whipping his head around to make sure they were a sizable distance from the room they came from, grabbing Nick’s arm and speeding forward. He let go once they rounded a corner and shoved Nick off him, who was snickering like an annoying cereal mascot. “No, stop. This is just my, like, uh… walk. Normal man walk.”

“Yeah,  _ okay _ .” George stomped his foot and Nick’s face contorted as he struggled to sober up. “I’ll drop it if you don’t wanna talk about it. It’s totally normal– like your walk.”

“Nick–”

“Yeah, yeah, stop your whining. I’ll leave it alone… for now.” They turned another corner and then they were out in the cold. Nick’s shoulders were shaking and it irritated George to hear the zipper of Nick’s winter coat dancing along to the rhythm of his silent laughs. George blew out a breath and watched the condensation gather and then dissipate in the wind.

“What’s he gonna do with it?” Nick hummed a noise of confusion, muttering ‘your hard-on?’ (which George chose to not acknowledge). They were walking slower now. The sun was high in the sky and the barren trees, heavy with snow, shone like stars. “The book. Like, when…” his hands buried themselves deeper in his pocket, his shoulders raising to hug his flushed ears. “When can other people read it?”

“Dude!” Nick laughed, delivering a slap on George’s back that almost sent the small man into the snow. “Your voice just got  _ so _ high, oh my god– stop– stop walking like that, first off.”

“I was just… curious.”

“ _ ‘Curious _ .’ Dude, why the fuck do you sound so weird? I mean,” Nick’s words were broken up by his laughs and interrupted occasionally with a ‘it’s not that funny’ from George, “yeah. It’s a book. I’m sure he’s gonna wanna publish it at some point and then, yeah, people’ll probably read it. Like, it’s good. I don’t see why people  _ wouldn’t _ read it, you know?” Nick trailed off into mumbles at the end, cold-bitten cheeks bright and red.

“Cool. So. Like, how far completed is it?”

Nick turned, his bandana flapping in the wind, reminding George of a waving flag. The white was blinding, reflecting the light from the high sun and frosted ground. Nick’s eyebrow quirked slightly and then fell. His eyes grew smaller as his cheeks pushed against them and a bright smile took over. “George. You can ask him yourself, you know?”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to know about–”

“You can just ask him about what he’s always writing about… since he stays after almost every day to… well, you don’t know what,” Nick grinned, “just ask him one of these days. Maybe he’ll let you read it.”

“He doesn’t even let  _ you _ read it.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not gonna be reading anything anytime soon, but… you know. Maybe you guys’ll get closer.” George snorted. “You’re right. I don’t think you can be closer than  _ soulmates _ .”

The ground glittered like diamonds and crunched beneath his feet like fakes. The pale blue sky and barren trees left much to be missed, but held a beauty of their own. The air burned his nose and dried his lips. It left his hands clammy and his toes numb, but he still took a deeper breath and invited the cold into the gaps within his jacket.

“We’re not. You know I only agreed to it because I copied his homework.”

“I know. And I thought you’d know I was joking.” A silence like a heavy sheet of snow. “Unless–”

“There’s no ‘unless’. It’s a joke. I don’t care about the way–” the way his morning eyes made George feel, when half-lidded, his head rose slowly peer at whoever just slid open the noisy glass doors, when those previously tired eyes brightened because they saw George. The way his stifled laughs repeatedly punched him in the gut. The way each of his smiles affected George a different way: the shy one that made George’s lips twitch up at the corners, the lazy one that made him swallow a little tighter, the bright one that made breathing just slightly harder…

“About the way..?”

“The way– the way that I fucked your mom.”

Nick slow clapped. “Wow. Good one, Gog. You’re  _ so _ cool.”

“I know. I  _ am _ the coolest person alive.”

“Shut the fuck up and buy me a donut.”

“Yes, Big Daddy.”

“ _ You heard Darryl say that too?” _

“He wasn’t exactly being quiet about it.”

“Zak’s such a lucky guy… wish I had a friend who’d call me Big Daddy… without being blackmailed though. Just ‘cause he loves me so much.” Nick’s eyebrows waggled and he bumped his shoulder against George’s.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I GENUINELY HAVE NO CLUE WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS STORY I– I wrote this to try and warm up for a different story, so I genuinely have no plans for this and am just writing to write so... ideas or scenes you wanna see...? Maybe..?
> 
> check out my other stories if you want :D In my do not fear the stars fanfic, I added a really long AN to the end asking what you guys would want to read more of...
> 
> again! comments are appreciated by every author, and they're free to leave!
> 
> (also watching quack's stream right now and bad calling hi Big Daddy made the air in my lungs disappear. i am dead now)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys go feral and nick and clay are best friends (clearly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! yay. every two weeks. not yay? it's midnight on Monday morning. like, seriously. It's not that late, but I should be going to bed as early as I can any opportunity I have...
> 
> SPEEDRAN THIS BECAUSE BIWEEKLY UPDATES OKAY? IT'S NOT A GUARANTEE BUT ITS MY OWN PERSONAL GOAL!
> 
> as with all my rushed posts (aka just... all posts), this was not proofread and will undergo slight edits in the coming week as I find time to look back at my writing!
> 
> enjoy :) maybe :) it's all just random filler content

“Fuck you, George!”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Clay walked in, backpack slung easily over his back, hanging by one strap, hands in the air moving up and down, trying to soothe Nick like a frightened horse. “That’s _my_ job. What’s going on?”

George’s cheeks immediately grew hot and he pressed his cool hands against them to try and bring them back to a reasonable temperature. Nick had already launched into a winded spiel, clinging to Clay and rubbing his face into the taller man’s chest. Clay ran his hands down Nick’s back, laughing as he listened to him speak.

They made eye contact and Clay noted, with apparent satisfaction, the flush spread across George’s face.

How could he have so easily made that claim? To walk into Conference Room 202C at 7:00 a.m. and brazenly take on the job of–

“George, you good?” Clay’s voice shook him out of his stunned stupor.

“ _Dreamie!_ Pay attention to _me!”_ Nick whined and stamped his foot like the petulant child he was. “George called me a nerd! He called me a _nerd!_ As if that scrawny little freak doesn’t sit in his room and play Minecraft all night!”

“Nick. _You_ play Minecraft.”

“Yeah, but– but–”

“Besides, you’re forgetting,” Clay wrenched himself free of Nick’s clutches (who, in response, spluttered profusely) and made his way next to George, “George is my _soulmate_. You can’t really try and get me to take _your_ side over his.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. His shoulders squared and his mouth began to fall open slowly. It closed abruptly then opened again. “Clay?” A responding hum. “Buy me breakfast?”

“Nick, you _just_ –”

“Coffee. I need a coffee.”

“I’m sorry you’re _jealous_ that–”

“Clay. I want to commit arson.” And then Clay’s demeanor changed to match Nick’s.

“Oh, okay. Okay, let’s go outside.”

* * *

George sat alone for a while. The clock ticked. Professor whatever-his-name-was poked his head in at one point, gave a questioning glance at George who simply shrugged in response, and then left with a “just make sure to fill out the necessary documents”.

7:08 a.m. George pulled out his phone, humming loudly, tapping his foot. He navigated to the grades app and sat, staring at his screen. His A+ shone brightly back. He remembered when Clay had shoved Darryl out of the way and lunged for George’s paper, scribbling an A+ on the top before settling down to read it. He remembered the quick smile Clay flashed before turning around and punching Nick’s arm.

7:10 a.m. Darryl walked into the room. He looked up from his phone briefly, nose red from the winter’s cold and illuminated by the device in his hand. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed, eyes scrunching tight as he looked around the room.

“Is no one here yet?”

George flicked a ball of lint off his sweater, letting his head fall to the side. “Nope.” He blew a raspberry and hummed, scatting rhythmically. A sigh sat heavy in the room. “Yeah, Nick and Clay came in earlier, but they went out to have a talk or somethin’. Yeah.”

“Oh.” Darryl hummed, tapping his foot. “So, uh–”

“You can go, if you want.”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t–”

“Zak, right?” George smirked at the red that painted itself across Darryl’s cheeks. “It’s cute. You don’t seem like much of a rule-breaker, but you’re on your phone a lot during discussions.”

“Well,” Darryl shut his phone off and stuffed it into his jacket’s pocket. “No one really pays attention anyway, so it’s not like I’m missing out on much–”

“I’m not accusing you, or anything, but just like… it’s cute.”

“Th- thanks.” Darryl’s lips pursed and he sniffled again. “Yeah, I– so are you and Nick… like, are you guys…?”

George’s cheeks felt a sting of pain as he barked out a laugh so fierce it hurt. He shook his head so fast he felt a dull throbbing begin to form.

“No, no, Nick and I aren’t dating.”

“Oh.” George pressed his lips in a straight line, nodding his head sharply once. “You just walk in together most mornings and then you leave together too. So, I just thought that you two–”

“Nope. I mean, Nick’s great, but…”

George was uncomfortable. This might have been his first time having a one on one conversation with Darryl and he wasn’t quite sure how to act. He coughed into his fist. Darryl sniffled again.

“No, yeah, Nick’s great. I’m glad I met him, but,” _but he’s not– but_ I’m _not–_

“‘Sup, _freaks_. We back.” Nick flung open the glass door and threw himself on a couch in the far corner. Clay followed at an easy pace, sat down, and then let Nick’s arms wrap around his torso. “I know you missed me, Georgie.” George’s face flushed before he could duck into his arms and Darryl sent him a confused glance.

“Nick. Don’t call me that.” He didn’t mean for it to come out as a whine, but at Nick’s snickers, he knew it came out as such.

“Why not?” Nick stuck his tongue out. “Is it a nickname only your soulmate can call you?”

Darryl’s mouth fell open and George was warning him to _stop_ before he could think about what he was saying.

“Why?” Nick’s taunting voice filled the room, the glass walls seemed to shake and George’s chest thrummed with the beats of his heart. “ _Georgie_.” He got off the couch and ignored Clay’s desperate calls, making his way to George. “Gimme a kiss. I want one!”

Darryl sighed audibly and muttered a “whatever,” before leaving the room; his cheerful cries echoed in the empty hall outside. “Zak! I decided to ditch class! What do you mean _‘finally’?”_

George’s head whipped around when he heard a violent shout and screamed in response to the sight that greeted him. Nick, practically foaming at the mouth, eyes wide as craters and mouth opened wider still, was jumping up and down on a desk.

“I’m coming for my kiss, Georgie!” Nick wasn’t very tall, but he was stocky and built; seeing him swing his arms back and forth, rock to and fro in preparation to pounce would scare anyone shitless. A mad craze overtook Nick and he pounded his fists against his chest, barking–

“You’re _actually_ barking, _what the hell?”_ George’s legs were moving before he told them to– but he was glad. Nick’s eyes were gleaming, and then he stopped, took a deep inhale, and turned to Clay, who was watching from the couch. “Clay! Tell him to leave me alone.” Clay stayed still, his hood over his head, a shadow covering his eyes. “Clay? Nick’s _literally_ gone feral!”

“Oh, yeah, you _know_ it, Georgie. I’m gonna get me a kiss!” Nick made out with the air, laughing as his stupid bandana’s end flew in the air along with his long dark locks. “Now _c’mere!”_

George scrunched his eyes and nose, screaming louder than he should’ve at 7:30 in the morning. But there was something about the time itself, the dark room that brightened when people walked in, the cold, the warmth from his friends, the hyperactive Nick, the way Clay’s smile seemed almost teasing, the way Nick and Clay went out to talk in the hallway, Darryl’s insinuations– there was _something_ about Conference Room 202C that made George feel a little lighter, a little freer. He gave another shout in protest, wailing and shaking his head vehemently. Nick nodded so fast and hard that his bandana slipped and his hair looked even messier than it normally did in the mornings.

Then they both turned their heads to the side; to where Clay was now standing.

“Nick. Stop–” George’s laugh stopped in his throat. “You– he’s mine.” The dialogue was unnatural, Clay’s stance was awkward. Nick laughed, but there was something about– it wasn’t just something. It was everything.

Clay’s shaky voice. The way his usual confidence was replaced with hesitant determination, the red flush that ran from the ends of his ears, across the plains of his cheeks, to the tip of his nose. The way he shifted, his bright hoodie that made him stand out contrasting with the way he seemed to want to sink into the fabric.

“Oh yeah?” Nick responded to the challenge immediately. “What are you gonna do, huh? I’ve got lil’ ole Georgie cornered here. He’s _mine_.” Something deep in the pit of George’s stomach protested. Clay bristled.

“Clay!” George couldn’t stop himself. “Save me!” He threw his arm over his forehead, falling against the wall, not even bothering to hide his rose cheeks.

It was an odd thing to witness, the unspoken conversation that passed between two longtime best friends. A shift in glance, a head tilted to one side, the other head tilting to the other side. A soft ‘O’ formed between two pink pillows, a quicker than normal blink, long eyelashes stitching together, a widening of eyes, a thousand other cues George knew flew over his head because, in a matter of seconds, both men nodded, seemingly coming to a conclusion.

“Screw it.” Clay’s lips drew up at their corners and George liked how it made him feel. “George, you’re mine.” George looked at Nick who only threw his hands up, mouth sliding into a toothy grin.

“I give up, George. I’m sorry I didn’t put up a bigger fight.”

“I’m not.” George stuck out his tongue at Nick who in turn began pounding against his chest once again. Clay chimed in with barking that made George question whether or not he was dreaming. And then George was screeching, adding to the discordant melody playing in the room.

“What the fuck?”

“Language!”

“Sorry, Dare– I just… I mean–”

“Fair enough.”

A new figure was standing by the entrance into the room, slurping loudly on a slushy. _An iced beverage in winter_ , George noted. “You must be Zak.”

“Yup.”

“We’ve heard… so much about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Just like we could hear you guys…”

“Barking,” Clay said at the same time Nick declared, “Popping off,” and George answered, “Nothin’.”

“Sure… whatever that was. Anyway. Just wanted to let you know that Sarah decided not to come in today and, as a result, Johnson’s like _uber_ cranky. He’s trying not to be, obviously, but it’s not working. In case he comes in, you know… I’m just here to drop Darryl off, but uh… Just look like you’re working, okay?” He turned to Darryl. “Bye! Catch you later!” The room was quiet.

“So did you guys do _any_ work while I was gone?” Darryl sighed when his received response was continued silence. “Of course not.”

“To be fair,” Nick piped up from his natural position of squatting on the top of a sofa’s back, “you probably don’t even know the assignment either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say 'either’,” Clay drawled. “I know the assignment.”

“Fine, Clay. Then even if he was here, we wouldn’t have gotten any work done either.”

Both turned to George, who averted his gaze to Darryl’s constant quizzical stare.

“Um,” George scratched the back of his neck. “Gotta back up Nick on this one, Clay.” Nick whooped and the latter cursed under his breath. Darryl continued to stare at George.

* * *

George’s phone buzzed on his chest. He checked the corner of his laptop’s screen for the time. It was late. He paused the video he was watching and gently shut his computer. His phone warmed his fingers and his fingers crawled to the charger, ready to unplug it for the night before he caught sight of the text.

_hey_

His brow furrowed and he wiped his hand down his face, groaning into the dark. When his eyes cleared and he could read the newest message, his grip went slack and the phone fell back onto his chest, forcing a small cough out.

_it’s clay :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said random filler content, but the end of this chapter... almost makes it seem like I have a plan... some sense of direction? or maybe not. definitely not.
> 
> I think I wanna try a vague outline for major plot points but like... what even is the plot? you don't know. I don't know. only one, omnipotent being knows...
> 
> all hail DreamXD


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clay normally has autocaps on but has been typing with lowercase to try and impress you lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol um wrote this all in one night I have two tests tomorrow but guys... my personal goal... every two weeks. dude these weeks have been so hard but I'm telling myself that if I get this done, at least I can be proud of that! yay consistency :D
> 
> it's so all over and not proofread lol and just brain dump poo but maybe enjoy if you want :))

George’s eyes focused and unfocused and then stayed unfocused for a long time. His heart stuttered in his chest, he could feel the staccato rhythm take over his body. His arms hummed and his fingers twitched, his chest heaved, and his legs shook. His gaping mouth turned dry as he focused on stilling his body. Slowly, his limbs fell to a rest. His heart still pounded wildly, pumping blood and sending George into a dizzying rush.

“What the fuck?” His empty question echoed in the room. It rushed out his mouth and got absorbed by the dark walls. He was suffocating. His bare feet hit the cold floor of his dorm room as he flew to his window. He struggled with the handle, feeling the cold glass against his anxious fingers. His warm breath fanned out and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

Cool air washed over his face as the window finally slid open. George released a sigh so heavy he felt like he could float after.

The city’s stars twinkled below him. The incessant honking of traffic crowded George’s mind like the crosswalks before and it was a welcome relief to his own jumbled thoughts. He wondered what it might be like to stay on the other side of the building, facing in on the campus. He thought about lying in the middle of the field and catching snowflakes on his tongue. He thought about stealing Nick’s stupid bandana and tying it around the neck of a snowman. He thought about warming his hand in Clay’s–

_it’s clay :)_

“Fuck me.” George took a deep breath. The cold burned his nose. He squeezed his eyes tightly. The night was nice. As much as George liked to complain about waking up early, about going to bed too late, about walking around in harsh afternoon light… as much as George complained about being awake, he liked it. The moments when it felt like it was just him. Not against the world, not with it. Just as himself– content. Pedestrians below laughed loudly and then quickly crossed the street when their light was still an angry red.

_it’s clay :)_

_Pretty privilege does exist,_ George scoffed to himself. His hands slid down the glass, his arms rested on the windowsill, and then he pushed himself up. His nose ran and he sniffed loudly as he shut his window, immediately feeling the quiet engulf him. He leaned into its embrace. The soft steps he took filled the silence and his bed sighed when he fell back into it.

He didn’t really want to pick up his phone. He didn’t want to have to respond. The turning of his stomach made him wonder if he was really that nervous. Or maybe he was just sick. He hoped so.

His fingers latched onto his phone before he could tell them _no_. He opened it before he could throw the device away. He clicked on the messaging app before he could process what a bad idea it was. And finally, the message his brain had so frantically sent out was received by his fingers and they stopped, hovering over Clay’s unopened text.

He clicked on his and Nick’s chat.

_hi, what do I_

Before George could finish crafting his message, Nick’s reply came.

_Text clay back_

George’s fingers flew across his keyboard, typing out a too long message, before he deleted everything and sent a simple:

_okay_

While his response may have read that way, everything was _not_ okay in George’s mind. Clay had his number– Nick obviously gave it. Clay texted him at (George checked the time and the cogs in his brain started spinning faster) 1:32 a.m. Clay told Nick he texted George and apparently needed a response so badly that George had to be prodded to text back. Clay’s message had been left on delivered for a while now. It was 1:39 a.m. and George’s heart had been beating at a concerningly high rate for too long now. He wondered how Clay was doing. If he was staring at his phone and breathing as hard as George was right then.

_hi_

_it’s george :]_

The response was immediate and George’s chest felt light, and so did his head, and his heart, and the smile that rested on his face.

_hi george :)_

_How are you?_

A notification banner fell down on George’s screen and he read Nick’s newest message.

_clay normally has autocaps on but has been typing with lowercase to try and impress you lol_

George’s cheeks warmed and he immediately thought back to the times when Clay had pointed it out before and teased him about it. They bloomed hotter still. The pads of his fingers gently tapped out their message to Clay.

_pretty good_

_I was looking out at the streets earlier_

George could see Clay’s warm smile, the one that overtook his face any time one of his friends did something he found endearing.

_I live on the opposite side of the building_

_just staring at dead grass lol_

_but it’s nice to see how calm it is_

George bit back a smile as he tapped out his next message.

_sounds like symbolism doesn't it?_

His cheeks were starting to hurt.

_oh yeah? and what would your busy city and my boring field represent?_

George hummed to himself in his room, lit up by the city lights and by the idea of the man he was texting.

_your fields not boring… but if it was, maybe something about juxtaposition_

_either between you and the field_

_or maybe between you and me_

His head was swirling. What was he doing? Trying to prove to the English nerd he caught feelings for that he was capable of deep thinking? Was he projecting onto Clay? Projecting what, though?

_I think prof johnson would agree_

_or maybe not… maybe he’d just let me grade it…_

_in which case I’d give you an A_

This was stupid. So fucking stupid. George’s head hurt, his heart was still pounding, it was still hard to breathe–

“Why does my stomach hurt so bad?” It was doing flips; the discomfort grew more and more bothersome by the minute.

_lol_

_Thanks btw for helping me in class always_

_Im tired rn tho si I might head to bed so im not dead tomorrow_

_see you :{_

The messages were typed out at a rapid pace and sent out just as quickly. His phone dinged as he turned it off. The weight in his hand seemed to grow so he shoved it under his pillow. His phone sounded again from within its soft prison. And then again.

His heart clenched as his fists did so around the fabric of his pillow sheets. His mind raged on like crashing waves and his insides continued to revolt. The room, his pillow, his thoughts were suffocating. George hated this feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhhhh comment if you want it always makes any author happy! make sure to keep yourself happy!
> 
> (okay I wrote the ANs before I finished writing but now that I have... da frick was that?)
> 
> shorter chapter than usual but mmm ahhh? ...? forgive me uwu?


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